


Maybe . . . (Or, Three Kisses John Casey Shared with Mary Bartowski)

by nnaylime



Category: Chuck - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-24
Updated: 2010-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-14 01:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/143708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nnaylime/pseuds/nnaylime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it didn't matter . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe . . . (Or, Three Kisses John Casey Shared with Mary Bartowski)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weasleytook](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weasleytook/gifts).



> I saw this request and was glad to try my hand at it for madness because the potential for danger in this pairing intrigued me.

He didn’t trust her, but that was nothing new. He didn’t trust anyone—not really.

Frost. Frost Queen. He couldn’t understand how she’d come to have a code name that was so orthogonal to her personality. Sure, her exterior was brittle, but her core was all explosive fire.

The first time he kissed her was after he’d gone a few rounds with her in hand-to-hand. Punches thrown and blocked; kicks directed and deflected; over and over; advantage and balance gained and lost until both were bloodied and sweaty.

And that’s what the first kiss tasted like—blood and sweat, bitter and metallic, red and dangerous—forbidden.

Not that John Casey was a stranger to danger—but danger had never felt quite so . . . personal before. She _was_ Chuck’s mom, after all.

When she slide her hand into his pants, he shivered—maybe that was where her code name came from. And, in fact, that was her second kiss—cold and dangerous as ice—and yet, he was the one melting—his resolve, his self control—as she continued to touch him.

He was the one to initiate the third kiss. Trying to convince himself that he was the one in charge of the relationship and the once calling the shots—it tasted like the bitter coffee he’d had to drink as he sat up trying to figure out just what his relationship with Mary Bartowski meant. He hadn’t been able to reach any answers, and that troubled him nearly as much as the many cups of bad coffee on an empty stomach.

He lost count after three kisses.

Maybe it didn’t matter, he told himself. Maybe no one would find out. And maybe he’d quit his job with the NSA and work forever at the Buy More.

 _finis_


End file.
